


It Takes Two

by thechaoscryptid



Series: Catharsis [38]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, emotional tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: When all the washing in the world can’t erase the things they’ve done, and the wind in the trees rattles like a dying breath, Sylvain only has to give Felix a glimpse of a smile and the world’s no longer insurmountable.Felix wonders if he’s anywhere near that precious to Sylvain.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Catharsis [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1114704
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	It Takes Two

**Author's Note:**

> Hi my name's Alex and I like tension-filled confessions with minimal plot or scene setting, and I will be sorry for this never. I debated literally up until right now, when I'm posting, whether I wanted to make this a MCD fic or not and ultimately chose not to, but just know...Sylvain came very close to biting it in the upcoming battle. There's really no specifics given, pick your favorite imagined time-skip battle that goes poorly

Felix is no stranger to Sylvain in his bed, and hasn’t been for some time now. He’s woken to the soft shine of copper in Sylvain’s hair more mornings than he can count, felt the childish curl of Sylvain’s fingers against his spine more often than not since the departure from Garreg Mach. His breath rolls steady and deep down Felix’s back as Felix steels himself to face the day. There’s a good chance the battle ahead will end poorly; morale’s been low all around as food and support dwindle, and already the bitter winter wind cuts through canvas walls and the furs they’re wrapped in.

He won’t wake Sylvain, not yet—there’s peace in this moment, and Sylvain deserves time to simply  _ rest.  _ Felix pinches the bridge of his nose as that fact’s continuation comes unbidden, but not unexpected:  _ he deserves more than this.  _ He always has, always will. 

Felix? Felix is a fighter, first and foremost. He can run a man through and dance across the blood-soaked dirt with a snarl on his face, then chalk it up to the good of Fodlan and sleep soundly until the next morning.

(That’s what he tells Annette and Mercedes when they comment about the pallor of his skin and the bags under his eyes.  _ Isn’t everyone tired?  _ he snaps.  _ There’s a war on.) _

It’s not as though Sylvain is so dissimilar. Felix has seen him rend through man and beast alike with the Lance of Ruin and walk away haloed with confidence, but Felix isn’t the one who comes crawling, trembling and with wetness on his cheeks, into Sylvain’s bed. Felix isn’t the one clutching furs between calloused fingers just to remind himself that the world isn’t all silver steel and crimson rivers cutting through the land they grew up on. 

It’s Felix that Sylvain grabs for now, his arm heavy and hand strong as he splays it across Felix’s stomach and pulls him closer. Felix lets him, as he always does, because war is hell and Sylvain—as much as Felix hates to admit it—is the light that guides him through the darkest days. When all the washing in the world can’t erase the things they’ve done, and the wind in the trees rattles like a dying breath, Sylvain only has to give Felix a glimpse of a smile and the world’s no longer insurmountable.

Felix wonders if he’s anywhere near that precious to Sylvain.

The air holds the muted greys of a winter dawn as Felix laces his fingers with Sylvain’s and inhales, pressing his face harder into the cloak he’s balled up for a pillow. People are already stirring outside, grating on his ears with clanking armor and snapping branches as the fires are rekindled. Soon a few will probably be along to ask about their orders, and Felix should be ready for that. He should be  _ dressed  _ and  _ awake,  _ because  _ that  _ is what a soldier does.

They order.

They fight.

They bleed.

They  _ die. _

He lets out a shuddering exhale as he removes Sylvain’s arm and sits up, covering a yawn with one hand as the other half-heartedly attempts to keep the blanket from slipping off his shoulders. His skin pebbles in the cold before another hand’s helping him, and Felix glances back to see Sylvain looking somberly at the new scar cutting across his ribs. As though compelled, he reaches out to skim his fingers across it, drawing out a vicious shiver from Felix.

“Sorry,” he says softly, drawing his hand back into his chest. 

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault it’s freezing.”

Sylvain only nods, doesn’t speak as he props himself up on one hand. He yawns and Felix has to move out of reach because if he doesn’t, he’s going to reach out and fix the way Sylvain’s hair’s tangling with his eyelashes. His hands tremble as he reaches for the length of cloth piled by their bedside and begins to wind it around his chest.

“Let me help.”

_ Any excuse to touch,  _ Felix should snap, because the luxury of Sylvain’s lingering fingers will only distract him later. He should bite out  _ No  _ with the full array of Vestra’s poisons coating his tongue, but he doesn’t, because all he can do is sit with his head in his hands while Sylvain works silently behind him.

Rising when Sylvain’s hands fall away, Felix doesn’t bother running a brush through his hair before tying it back. There’s no need for beauty in battle—he’ll be soaked in mud, blood, and sweat by the time everything’s done, if he’s still standing. 

“Ridiculous,” he mutters when his fingers just won’t  _ work.  _ The tie falls to the ground and Sylvain’s already there to sweep it up before Felix can get to it himself. When he hands it over, Felix doesn’t have the wherewithal to draw back when their fingers brush. He simply stands and stares at the way Sylvain cups both his hands around Felix’s.

“Let me,” Sylvain says again, and his voice is thick in a way Felix only hears when it’s nothing but them and the silence that comes with midnight. It’s the thickness that’s born from wine-soaked veins and whispered wishes for a home he’s never had, and when Felix looks up, Sylvain’s eyes are screwed shut.

“Why?” Felix asks, when he really means  _ Why do you do this for me?  _

“Because,” Sylvain says, answering nothing, and Felix balls his fists at his sides as Sylvain begins to sort out the tangled mess of his hair. When he’s halfway through, he pauses, rests his temple against the back of Felix’s head like he can’t hold himself up anymore.

“Sylvain?”

“Don’t die,” Sylvain says. His hands smooth over Felix’s shoulders like he’s trying to keep him tethered to the earth.

Felix fears instead he’ll drift away, his soul borne on the winds to be scattered throughout all of Fodlan. He tells himself it’s the cold that makes tears spring to his eyes and not the way Sylvain handles him like he’s something precious, helping him dress with all the care in the world. They’ve danced all the way to the edge of this almost tangible thing, and now here they stand—worn and weary—staring into the abyss of things that could be, if only Fodlan knew peace once more.

“Fe.”

“Promise me you won’t either,” Felix whispers. He hangs his head and leans back as Sylvain’s arms wrap around him, willing the tears not to fall. “It’s a stupid thing to ask today, isn’t it?”

Sylvain sighs, then rests his forehead in the crook of Felix’s shoulder. “Stupid isn’t so bad.”

“So says you,” Felix breathes. He tips his head toward Sylvain’s, self-control hanging on by a mere thread that disintegrates when he feels the warmth of Sylvain’s breath ghosting across his cheek. “Come on, then.”

Sylvain presses their lips together so softly that Felix wonders if it even counts as a kiss. There they stand, breath mingling in the air between them, and Felix’s face twists as he feels the first tears spill from his eyes. He fists a hand in Sylvain’s shirt and shakes once before loosening his grip.

“Why now?” he asks, hoarse as he valiantly tries to stem the emotion welling in him. “Of all the goddess-damned times we could’ve done this,  _ why now?” _

“Just in case,” Sylvain says. Felix feels Sylvain’s rueful smile against his cheek before Sylvain kisses him again. “For luck,” he continues. He turns Felix around and caresses his jaw, thumbs brushing across the tear-stained swell of Felix’s cheeks, and leans in a third time. 

Felix shatters under the gentleness. Simple touches tear him open as easily as any blade, all the things unsaid between them leaking out as he repeats  _ Don’t die  _ and then  _ I can’t lose you  _ and then, agonized,  _ Don’t leave me here alone.  _ “Fuck you,” he mutters as Sylvain’s hand tangles in his hair. “Come back to me so I can—”

“Felix!” Ingrid calls from just outside, and there’s barely enough time for Felix to pull back before she’s opening his tent and flushing when she realizes what they’ve been doing. “Oh. Uh, there’s—you’re needed.” She bows out as quickly as she appeared, leaving behind a silence so deep Felix isn’t sure he remembers how to break it.

Sylvain has no such problem. “Come back so you can tell me what a fool I’ve been for waiting?”

“It takes two to hold off as long as we have,” Felix says. He steps forward and lays his hand over Sylvain’s chest, spreading his fingers slowly. “If you’re a fool, then so am I.”

“Quite the pair,” Sylvain says, followed by a wry huff. “I suppose we should, uh—” He rubs at his nape and glances up at Felix. “You know. Battle waits for no man.”

“I won’t ask you to promise you’ll survive,” Felix says, “but promise me you’ll try.”

“I will.”

Felix sighs and lets his hand drop. “Then it’s settled.”

“One more thing?” Sylvain says, and the way the sun’s spindly golden fingers claw at him from behind feels like a kick straight to Felix’s gut. 

“Save it. Call it incentive to come back alive.” Felix wipes the remainder of tears off his face with one hand and points to the door with the other. “I’ll find you when it’s finished, and we’re going to make up for the time we lost.”

“Right,” Sylvain says softly, then reaches for Felix once again to pull him into a hug so tight that Felix nearly asks if he’s trying to put the pieces of his heart back together again. “Promise?”

“Yes.” Felix noses into Sylvain’s neck, inhaling deeply before pressing his lips to the flutter of Sylvain’s pulse. “I haven’t broken any of our promises yet. I’m not going to start today.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I see and appreciate all your comments, and even if it takes a while, I do my best to get back to them ❤️


End file.
